Let Your Battles Choose You
by FutureMagicLab
Summary: Ty Lee said the universe was giving her strong hints that she should leave the circus and start a new life with Azula. Really, it was less a strong hint and more the threat of a lot of pain that could follow for her and everyone else in the circus if she didn't. That doesn't necessarily mean she's avoided pain, so far. It just means she has a lot less of it. Probably.


_This story is cross-posted here from AO3 where it was an exchange gift for purimgifts 2015. It is the second of three parts of a series entitled 'Bloodlust.' It involves two missing scenes: one from "Return to Omashu" when Azula takes Ty Lee with her to retrieve Mai and the other from "Appa's Lost Days." If you want to see an image made to accompany it, you may view it in its original format on AO3. My AO3 is linked from my profile! Reading and feedback are appreciated._

* * *

The first hint of warmth comes from Azula's fingertips. Ty Lee barely feels the constant plodding pace of her feet alongside the royal litter, but the sparkle of brilliant orange and yellow catches her eye through the gauzy cloth that obstructs her view. She nearly speaks but doesn't. The truth is, she feels drawn to the warm, easy glow above Azula's hand like a bug to one of the circus lanterns.

Lanterns she'll never see again.

She's walked so far already and looking around only reveals the dark shadows of more trees. There's no point in looking away from the fire, because it's the only glimpse of home she's likely to see. Ever.

"Stop."

The command is hard and short and it's obeyed just like that. Ty Lee's spine goes rigid like a sapling, and it's too late to look away. She doesn't have the first clue why, but something in Azula's tone makes her think she's done something wrong.

No one says a word when Azula's feet take her weight, the litter smoothly lowering to the ground on the backs of her attendants. No one says anything, and Ty Lee knows – she _remembers_ – that there's no one _there_ to speak. Attendants don't speak unless they're spoken to and are explicitly directed to answer, and she remembers that she's been living in a different world for the seventeenth time in an hour. She hasn't been keeping precise count, but every time is as new and fresh as the last.

She knows better, but she takes a small step back when Azula comes toward her, illuminated more by the light of her own hand than the moon. She turns her head so she's looking down along her left shoulder, watching her own fingers clench into an ineffectual fist. She's ashamed and waiting for...

"Drink."

Another command, less forceful than the first. Ty Lee lets her handful of nothing go and faces forward, red drinking skin nearly in front of her nose.

"This is—?" Ty Lee asks, but she doesn't need to. The glow of Azula's hand ebbs away until only cold gray light remains. Ty Lee can't do anything but watch as the princess removes the cap and holds it out to her. There is no effort to pass the vessel along. Instead, Azula is holding it higher and higher until she understands. She opens her mouth, first a gasp and then a swallow, tiptoeing to catch the lip of the thing with her mouth.

Her throat feels long and hollow, and in the back of her mind she's still wondering – is she a prisoner? She can imagine all kinds of reasons for a prisoner being allowed to drink, but not one for being allowed the water from Azula's own mouth. Azula's lips have touched it, and it's _hers_. Ty Lee gulps loudly when she feels a cool dribble down her chin. She scrambles to make sure no more of it spills as the skin is pulled away. She winces, but there's still no telltale crackle or surge of heat in the air, no ripple, scald, and fuse of _her_ skin. She just hears the cap going back into place.

"You may drink." This command isn't for Ty Lee even though she sees Azula's eyes. The attendants scatter with quiet ease. "Are you alright?"

Ty Lee's eyelashes flutter too fast for her to see clearly while she thinks.

"I'm fine!" she promises. "A little cold, maybe, but..." Her hands are already lifting up to grip above their opposite elbow, wanting friction. Her arms drop to her sides and go stock-still when she feels heat licking up from royal fingers.

"Relax." The demand sounds like it's holding back a laugh. While Ty Lee wills her limbs weak, Azula's hands work up and down, radiating like sleepy autumn embers.

o o o

Sore, sweaty, sticky, disgusted. Those are feelings, words that come to mind while Ty Lee just wishes that this would be _over_. The big fuzzy cow thing – bison, they were calling it a bison – flew away what feels like forever ago. She wishes they could have gone with it. Clinging to its back, finding a way to hold on, listening to Mai squeal in an octave she pretended she didn't have – that sounded like fun. And it seemed like a much better idea for finding the Avatar faster.

This isn't fun.

Fighting loses all its appeal after it goes on for a while. She's pretty good at it. Not that she's ever needed it for this before, but she knows exactly where to hit them where they don't get up again for a while. It's kind of funny with the first couple of tries – watching their eyes go wide as they realize what's happened, knowing they'll remember her face long after she walks away. But then she gets tired, starts feeling the ache in her limber tendons, and starts missing some of her strikes.

There isn't any fanfare when the tide turns in a fight. No one is there to _'ooh' _ and _'ah'_ as she defies death. No drumbeat, no ringmaster, no safety net. There is only breath and growling, the flash of white and green and red in front of her, the irregular rake of tree bark against her skin, and finally the glint of the fan as it catches her temple.

The flood is fast and red and a lot more than she expects. She hears her opponent cry out and sees the sick lash of blue rip across her skin with cruel precision. She's suffering, struck and lying on the ground, shivering.

Ty Lee notices Azula's shoes first, then looks up. She looks at her hand, then touches her fingers to the sting on the side of her face. Her fingertips grow slick, and she looks down at them.

"Hey, it's... kinda pretty, you think?" she squeaks, too fast. Azula looks at her with reserved, battlefield interest. That girl doesn't die.


End file.
